


The lighthearted one

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Hvitserk [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Hvitserk and his brothers, Hvitserks thoughts about his family, Self-Doubt, it's not easy being the son of a legend, lack of support, living up to your family's reputation, middle child in a famous family, sibling bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: This is based on a tumblr request. I wanted to try and write something that showed a "darker" side of Hvitserk and this is what I came up with. It takes place during/after the blood eagling of King Ælle.





	

I watch in silence as the defeated king is released from the back of my brother's chariot. Björn demands that he show us where he threw father to the serpents. When the mud covered man only responds with a weak whimper, Björn raises his hand and strikes him.  
“Show us!” He repeats in the Saxon tongue. The former king caves, as enemies usually do before Björn Ironside. My brothers walk ahead, as does Floki, while I walk with the warriors; the distance between us is clear. There's a large hatch in the ground. It seems to consist of two different pieces and there are ropes attached to each of the short-sides. Björn gesture for the men who were first to enter the clearing to get on with it and together they start to pull. A hole is opened in the ground and Ivar immediately leans over the edge to look at the pit. I move to stand beside him.  
“This is where our father was killed.” He says. He is stating the obvious but I don't know how to respond so I just nod in agreement. No serpents and no body. I wonder what might have happened to the bones? Wild animals can't have gotten at them, not if the pit's been closed. They must've taken them after they had removed the serpents.  
The king speaks up and my train of thoughts is interrupted. He's sobbing something about gold and silver and I understand that he wants to buy his way out of this. I see the rage boiling throughout Ivar's entire body when he turns to face Ælle and he speaks in the Saxon tongue, explaining to him that the price for our father's death can not be paid with treasure. In a flash, Floki is pushing Sigurd out of the way and lunging at Ælle. He presses his face close to the defeated man, digs his nails into the filthy shirt and forces him down on his knees.  
“I have been told that your god is a carpenter. And guess what? So am I.” The horror in Ælle's face makes my heart sing.

We hold him down, Sigurd and I, as Floki hammers nails into the wailing man's hands. Once he is done we step back to let Björn carry out the punishment. It is more satisfying than I thought it would be, watching as the former king pays for his crimes. The first cut opens his skin and the hot blade burns the wound; my mouth jerks into a grin as he screams. Of course I knew it would be rewarding to kill such an important and reputed Saxon but this is far better than I have imagined. I see that my brothers are enjoying it as well. Ubbe's eyes are briefly closed and a smirk dances on his lips. And Ivar, well; while the rest of us stand behind Ælle he crawls up to his head so that he can watch as life slowly fades from his eyes. As Björn buries his axe in Ælle's ribs I find myself getting lost in thoughts about father, more specifically how proud he must be. Surely, he is in Valhalla bragging about his sons. Not just about his first-born or about the one that he brought with him on his last trip to England, that ended with him being captured and killed. No, he must be bragging about all of his sons. How the little piggies will grunt, that is what he said. And grunt we did. I can't help but grin even wider at the thought. It must be a grisly sight, all the sons of Ragnar splattered with the blood of this pathetic excuse of a king. If our enemies could see us now they would all shit themselves. Dawn comes and Ælle's body hangs in the glade; it is over and I want to go to my brothers for comfort. The previous day, and then this night, have brought a storm of emotions. First, the eagerness of going into battle. This was closely followed by the fear of seeing a loved one being cut open by a foreign blade. Then victory, then visiting the site of our father's death and on and on it went. They must be as affected by this as I am, Ivar probably even more. 

Have I learned nothing from growing up with these men? Curse me for thinking they would offer any support. For once, even Ubbe manages to disappoint me. They are all too busy for the bland middle child. Little Hvitserk, who nearly drowned due to mother's neglect. Ubbe's refusal to acknowledge me when I try to approach him awakens the anger and hurt in me. I remember how mad I am at him for taking Ivar's side in the decision to attack Lagertha; had he not nearly died in the icy water, the same as me? All because mother didn't care for anyone but our little brother and the man who might ease his pain. It would've been easier if he had been left for dead. I berate myself at once for thinking this, but the thought still lingers. 

Shut out once again, I study my brothers. Björn, who simply dropped his axe to the ground once the deed was done and rested his back against a tree, giving out orders for Ælle to be hoisted into the air. I saw him in the Mediterranean; he will no doubt earn even more fame and honour to not only our family, but to all of our people. He likes to accuse Ivar of being too angry but lately he has been almost as bad himself. I overheard Torvi speaking to Lagertha about how he had made their little ones cry. Now he is off to the side, seemingly deep in prayer.  
And Ivar; he's clinging on to Floki like he is the only one who matters. My rage fuelled little brother who is so dead-set on being father's true heir, in spite of his legs and his youth. And maybe he is right; he has survived this far, in spite of everything. Sigurd, watching in silence just like me. Sometimes I think that he is just as pushed aside and uncertain as me. Then I remember how everyone, from other royals to the lowest of commoners and even slaves, light up when he enters a room with his lute. He might not go down in history as the greatest Viking, but he will certainly be loved and cherished while he lives and those closest to him will mourn him for years after his passing. Ubbe; the selfless big brother who always manages to hold us together even when Ivar nearly tears us apart. He is touching the blood on his face as if he's in a trance, the smirk still clings to him. He has a wife waiting for him at home. Margrethe, who chose Ubbe over me. Sure, she will let me in her bed at times; but only by the leave of my older brother. Is that what life will be like; me having the leftovers of whatever my brothers are done with? My heart stings as I think back on the realization that had dawned on me a few months back; I am not the second pick, not even the fifth pick. Because no one remembers me.

Late that afternoon, Ubbe finally awakes from the deep trance and becomes suspicious of my behaviour. We have returned to the camp, rested and eaten. He crouches down next to me as I sharpen my knife.  
“Are you all right, little brother?” He asks in a voice that doesn't sound truly worried. I want to scream my concerns at him, tell him how I doubt that I will ever be worthy of our legendary father or be able to step out of my brothers' shadows. But from his tone I can tell that he expects me to say that everything's fine, that I'm just tired. So I force the scream back down my throat and I immediately begin to jest with him. Because I'm the lighthearted brother, and since that is all I'll ever be I might as well do a good job of it.


End file.
